


D'you Know, D'you Know Just How I Feel?

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: 1970s Era Queen (Band), Angry Roger Taylor (Queen), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Band Fic, Best Friends, Bickering, Cuddling & Snuggling, Deacy and Rog are super sweet, Drinking, Emotions, Fashion & Couture, Frustration, Gen, Hugs, I'm always writing Roger angry... I'm sorry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Makeup, Minor Injuries, Mother Hen Freddie Mercury, Nicknames, Protective Brian May, Sassy John, Sharing Clothes, Sleepiness, Slight Panic Attack, Smoking, Stubborn Rog, Swearing, They're all stubborn though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25754848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: Roger is irascible. And tired. The crowd was dead, the spangly vest Freddie gave him was too tight, and he is honestly going to crack Brian May's bloody guitar over his gigantic stubborn head.Does anyone realise - or care, for that matter - just how he feels?(Or, it's after the 1974 gig at the Rainbow, and Roger Taylor is itching for a fight)
Relationships: Brian May & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Roger Taylor
Comments: 30
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

Roger is fucking exhausted.

He doesn't get like this much; he's always going and going and going, ready for any good time he can find with a cigarette between his lips and a drink in his hand, chest glowing and heaving as he shakes back his soft blond hair and flicks his tongue, winking and jumping about, "your pert plush arse is always on the go, isn't it, dear?" Freddie says that fondly as he smiles and Roger winks and slaps Fred on the arse or takes one of his hands. He giggles incessantly with John as the bassist chucks nuts at Brian, because they've got to get the stodgy guitarist to let loose someway as he's always so stiff and stone-faced onstage. He acts so bloody _serious_. Really needs to loosen up a bit. 

And if he gets loose by yelling at them, well, at least he's loose. 

But this gig. Rog yowls behind his drums as he bites his lips and then holds them open, pursed as he shakes his head, feathery blond tips of hair bouncing along with enormous drum rolls. He's rattling the hi-hats and crashing the cymbals and wanting to put his foot through his bass drum on principle, not because he legitimately wants to but maybe it would make him feel better. The crowd isn't saying a thing, typically at least SOMEONE is shouting and having a good time, but either the venue's so big and acoustically shitty they can't hear a thing, or this gig is ending up as a dog's breakfast and no one is into them. 

At that, the thought of shoving his drumsticks up someone's arse comes to Roger's mind. Freddie would appreciate that, or have some cheeky comment to make about it, surely; and ordinarily Roger would roar with laughter and retort with a cheeky rejoinder of his own to pile on and get Bri flushing red as a tomato, but he's tired of this, of people not giving them respect, of Freddie not knowing how amazing his musicianship is because the ruddy tossers don't go on to him about it. No, he's "just a" showman. Fuck off, he's a MUSICIAN. And there Brian is looking like a kicked puppy with those huge hazel eyes of his, devastated in response to the silence. Like it's his fault. That's rich, that is. 

He's as bad as Deacy not knowing how impressive he is for graduating suma cum laude from Uni, or recognising that the fact he'd picked up bass _as a hobby_ when someone else couldn't play worth a shite made him amazing at it, in fact. Deaks is versatile too, plays rhythm guitar and piano. Then there's Fred with all the whacked out ideas that are astounding and yes, they actually work. He's got Brian in necklaces and nail polish and just the right amount of makeup to make his features pop.

They all do, really; with everything they're doing Rog knows they're going to be big. BigGER since they've gotten on the charts once already - bugger the critics and the press and the BBC, and even the fact they'd only got on because there was a cancelled act from Bowie - Queen is rocking and rolling right into minds and hearts.

Or they would be, except during the course of this FUCKING gig, apparently.

Roger shoves himself off the stage, skin glowing in the lights and the smoke and from sweat as his hair shines bright too. He feels jittery and furious and he's ready to snap as he flings open the dressing room door and storms through it, chucks his drumsticks one way and his shirt the other before flopping onto the chaise they've got with a garbled shout. There are giggles and shuffles behind him, and the enormous presence of Brian, quietly coming to put his guitar down as bubbly John is giggling (and grinning, no doubt) as he leans into Freddie and follows in. Had got even more excited after Roger had tipped over his drumset, which somehow manages to tick the drummer off even more than he is already.

"'d you see me get out of the way? That cymbal stand went airborne!"

"I saw it, that was certainly a show, Roger darling," Freddie's smooth voice purrs and Roger grunts. His heart is hammering madly and there is roaring in his ears. They really all ought to just piss off.

There is an instant of silence, and "It was good, Rog. Very rock 'n roll. Thought you might appreciate that," Brian speaks far quieter than the other two, gentle as ever, and Roger really doesn't want to hear any of this right now. 

He kicks out a foot and with his mouth full of pillow, makes as clear of a "go away!" Sound as he can.

Can almost feel the glances the other three give each other, and the soft, incredulous "...Is he taking the mick?" Makes the drummer absolutely lose it.

Face bright red, cheeks burning and teeth bared, Roger flings himself round, twisting his sweaty torso and hurling the first thing under his hand in the general direction of his three (blurry, as of course he's got his glasses off) bandmates, which happens to be a fringed and beaded pillow. His high tone of voice cracks as he roars

_"No I'm NOT taking the mick, fuck off!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves! 
> 
> This is a piece borne from my own current feeling of frustration and irritation for...no discernable reason, honestly. But I thought of Roger being furious after the gig at the Rainbow in 1974 because they had a "dead crowd" as I believe Brian put it...and voila!
> 
> I'm not really sure where this is going, and the style is a bit jumbled at that, but ah well. Let me know what you think :)
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rog is angry
> 
> Oblique references to child abuse below, as well as slight medical scare - Roger will be all right though

Freddie flinches. His deep brown eyes are huge as he sucks in his cheeks with an expression on his face that looks, even to Roger's fuzzy gaze, like terror. The edges of John's eyes crinkle as he - as if automatically, by instinct - moves in front of Freddie and catches the pillow Roger throws. Stepping back, his elbow knocks unintentionally into the space just above Brian's hip, striking his slim pale abdomen. Brian had shifted a trifle closer to John, shielding Freddie with one thin arm whilst also reaching out in an attempt to placate Rog. Bri crumples, almost jackknifes in half, letting out a heavy-sounding, gutteral _"oof!"_ as the bassist knocks into him.

"Roger," John breathes, slowly curling his hands around the pillow that Roger tossed, watching the blond sit with shoulders tense and jerking as he clenches his fists, teeth gritting as his nostrils flare.

"What?" Roger snaps, and his heart thuds as Freddie jumps at the snarl of vitriol in his voice. He pushes at his sweaty hair, unsure if he's trying to flatten it or mess it up more in his impotent rage. 

He knows he oughtn't be angry at the boys, but "How can you act so bloody happy?! The crowd was absolute SHITE!" He slams his foot onto the floor emphatically, standing, and a stabbing pain shoots all the way up his leg. Roger's eyes bulge and he expels a sharp sound, more sweat popping in beads onto his face as Roger's muscles clench and he nearly stumbles, wanting to retch from the pain that shoots through him and makes his stomach churn.

Brian's hand stretches back. He curls his fingers around Freddie's, elegant digits squeezing the singer's warm skin in reassurance as he shakes his frizz of curls, mussed and falling into his face. Those emotional eyes of Brian's are reproachful, and Roger swallows hard in shame over throwing that pillow. No matter how soft it is, he'd hit John and in turn, John whacked Bri... An echoing scream from across the years thunders into Roger's consciousness then and he winces at the recalled sound of smashing glass. That was awful. He's being awful, he can't do this. He cannot - he must not lose control. Ever. 

Roger heaves a breath, blinking rapidly. His skin is still flushed but his eyes are glittering with regret rather than fury as he looks at his bandmates again, throat bobbing. He steps forward slightly and wobbles. "Bri -"

And Brian, feeling Freddie ghost his fingers over his arm and whisper "thank you, darling" lunges now to get to Roger, who is favouring that foot he'd stamped, and shouldn't be in so much pain from that alone, logically. But logic does not often apply to Roger, Brian has learned.

Long limbs akimbo as he moves, the lanky guitarist catches the drummer's stockier personage as he can no longer keep his feet.

Roger drops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Apparently Roger was sporting a foot injury before this gig, and perhaps worsened it.
> 
> *I feel awful referencing what Roger suffered as a child, even as I don't know the full extent. Dear strong man, he's dealt with a lot
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	3. Chapter 3

Roger hates that he's so fucking furious yet can't even stay angry when his best mate is literally catching him as he falls. Clamping Roger against his cool bony chest (and somehow Brian is strong enough to take Roger's weight no matter how skinny he is, what the hell is this madness) he lets the drummer clamp his incredibly strong calloused fingers around his forearms without even wincing at the tightness. "I've got you, Rog," Brian grunts. And then "... you're lucky, after throwing that pillow at Freddie, that I don't leave you writhing in agony on the floor."

Roger scoffs. "Oh, please. I wasn't even - trying to throw it at him, I just... Ugh, sod it, this is -" the drummer hops, and stumbles, falling back into Brian's arms even as he really wants to shove the guitarist off and away, to stomp away from all of them, get out his anger. 

But "I'm checking your foot and then you can have ample time to sulk," Brian's voice brooks no argument, and he scoops Roger into his arms before the drummer can protest. "Here, John, the pillow -"

"Let's put it to actual use," John says, deadpan, as Brian takes Roger back to settle him onto the chaise lounge and John plops the pillow down after Freddie plumps it. 

"Just a minute, there! Now, let's - well, let them look at your ankle, Roger dear."

The problem actually doesn't seem to be with his ankle, at least not totally. Which John and Brian find out once they remove Roger's shoes and deal with the blond sniping colourful curses at them. Once the shoes are off, Brian notes that Roger's foot feels warm, warmer than the rest of him, and his skin on the top of it bulges up strangely as if he'd got half an apple or something shoved just behind his toes.

"... it's swollen," Brian says. "We need to find some ice."

John, ever resourceful, adds "Think I've got some, erm, behind m' amp, be right back" and he's out of the room after clamping a hand gently around Roger's leg. 

Freddie tsks, hovering back a bit as Roger grits his teeth, Brian gently curving his hand under the drummer's heel to position his foot onto the pillow. Rog's nose scrunches at the almost-sharp roughness of beads rubbing against the sole of his foot. "This doesn't feel great," he spits.

Brian rolls his eyes. "It wouldn't, Roger, you've likely broken your foot."

"Way to be overly dramatic, Bri. Thought that was Fred's job."

"...Way to be optimistic," utters John quietly from out the door, hearing what Brian said.

"Well, _could_ your foot be broken, Blondie?" Freddie purses his lips and flicks his hands, staring at Roger with a sigh as the other coughs and looks away. At least he isn't frightening Freddie anymore; he never wants to see that look in his friend's eyes again.

But as John hustles back in, pouring ice out of a glass and onto a towel after talking to Brian- "I know the ice won't help if it's in the glass, Brian, thanks."

"Not unless I want to pour a drink in it, right?"

"Shut up, Roger."

"That is an idea, though. I could get the vodka -"

"Come on, Fred, not now."

"It'll have to go in something to wrap around Rogie's foot, the ice."

"Gee, really? What would work for that, d'you think? You want to do it?" John raises his eyebrows at Brian, who has stayed holding onto his mate's heel, rubbing circles on the skin with one thumb. The satirical glance in the bassist's eye tells Brian to shut his gob, if Roger's sharp elbow jabbing into his ribcage hadn't already sent a clear message.

John's nimble hands spread a rag on which he dumps a line of ice and rolls it up. "Here, Rog. Lift your foot, that's it."

Roger, still aware he should be furious - he IS furious about their shitty gig - glowers at his band before grumpily (and with an immense show of reluctance) doing as he is told. As he settles reluctantly back into the seat that is made in part of Brian's chest and lap (as the guitarist has shifted to sit by Roger on the chaise lounge) still standing back a bit as though discomfited, Freddie nevertheless fixes the drummer with a sharp look and asks in his most mother-hennish voice as he gestures to Roger's swollen appendage.

"Now Roger. What did you do?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As soon as any of his boys are hurt, I think Freddie goes into mother hen mode
> 
> *John apparently kept a bit of a bar behind his amp to have drinks during sets
> 
> *Freddie called Roger "Blondie" and Brian calls him "Rogie", both of which are super cute to me
> 
> How did Roger hurt himself? Who knows...
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concerns about the night
> 
> Minor injury discussed and slight panic experienced in this chapter

The ice John had gotten for Roger is melting apace and soaking the cloth around his foot and ankle, which is cooling and thus feels good against his skin but isn't doing much for the swelling anymore. Roger blows out a heavy breath that fluffs out the hanks of hair sticking to his sweaty face as he grumbles "y' don't wanna hear about me dropping drum on meself when the lights shorted first time this afternoon, Fred" which makes John's shoulders tense and his head shoot up.

Freddie moves with face full of compassion and wraps his arm round the drummer as Brian's eyes grow agonised with empathetic understanding, his breath catching in his throat. "Oh, Roger..."

"Don't go on, Bri, I had t' get set up, it was just piss-poor bloody timing."

"I'll say," John scoffs quietly. The grid had gone out twice during their set tonight. It wasn't simply the lack of response from the crowd that had been jarring them. The electrical system was so bad that it shorted when they were setting up and then not once, but _twice_ during the show - mind-bogglingly awful to think, to reiterate, but even worse in the bassist's head now he knows that Rog got HURT because of it. Shite, it was, and as his fingers clench into a fist and he sees, or rather feels Roger's bright blue eyes on him, John gets out "You aren't the only one who's right miffed about tonight's run, mate. That - the grid shouldn't have shorted out."

John's words are sharp and clipped and might seem only to be a statement of fact. That is, if one didn't know him. As it is, there is a soft sound from Brian, Freddie murmurs "oh, love," and Roger in his brusque way reaches out and takes John's arm, shaking it with the grasp of his calloused hand. 

"Deacy, mate, it's not your fault. You couldn't've done a thing."

"Couldn't I?" John lifts his chin, gaze blazing out from the shadow of his long soft chestnut hair. His ever expressive countenance is even paler than usual, purplish eye shadow standing stark on his lids, contrasting with his ivory skin as he blinks and flicks his eyes at them wildly. "Oughtn't I, I'm an _electrician_ , an engineer - I should have checked the board for shorts on the panel, soon as we came in, then you wouldn't have been backstage in the dark, y' wouldn't have hurt yourself, Roger,"

His words tumble out fast and faster as he gasps, hair swinging as his body lurches forward, hand lifting to press to his lips as if he might be sick. 

"If - you might have fallen in the dark, and hit your head!"

"But I didn't," Roger's eyes are wide, he has shifted away from Brian and to John, angry outburst and its residuals forgotten. He moves his hand from John's arm to grip the bassist's trembling shoulder. "John, look at me." Pushing John's hair back as though impulsively, Roger keeps one hand on his shoulder, rests the other on his cheek, ducking his face forward until he locks onto John's grey-green eyes. He squeezes the younger fellow's shoulder. "It's alright, mate. I'm alright. I'll get some more ice somewhere, and - we can all go for some food, or a pint. C'mon, whaddya say?"

Roger's voice has grown so gentle as he speaks to the other, losing the last growl of former vitriol. John sniffs and Brian blinks his own eyes rapidly. Sensitive Bri. Freddie smiles as John in his own turn nods, breathes, and lifts his hand to curl around Roger's. He squeezes it and returns an "...Okay," which, for Deacy, is as ebullient an acquiescence as they are likely to get. 

Roger grins, then; his fury has already cooled with the towel of ice, and as is his typical fiery manner. He's like to explode again soon as he gets a few drinks in him, and Brian will be exhorted to act as a calming agent then. But for now Roger calms Deacy, lifting his arm to offer a cuddle into his side, which John accepts. And Freddie, not one to know as much about close assistance for injuries as say their resident bio student, magnanimously offers to locate some more ice. Brian suggests he ought to go too, and there is a bit of ragging from the others on whether or not he will bring along his guitar.

The sounds of crew clearing up and heading out echo, and John has to be taken hold of as he rises with hardly-seen ferocity - cold fierce anger, so different from Roger's bright quick flash, as disparate as fire to snow - to go out and give them a piece of his mind for getting Roger hurt. "That's their fault, that is, and I could really get them in trouble for it, y'know."

The bassist gets pulled back and dissuaded, however, because no matter "how bloody amazing and fascinating, absolutely brilliant it would be" to see John Deacon lay into some piss-poor light and sound men, they "...really don't need old bill coming for us tonight, mate" as "we simply cannot have the potentiality of breaking up the band due to jail time, I won't stand for it, darling!"

And thus John cuddles up to Roger and Brian tosses the drummer a clean(er) shirt to wear as the four band members prepare for what the rest of the evening has to offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *the lights did in fact go out during preparations and during the actual show. I'm not sure where exactly Roger sustained his foot injury but it could very well have been during the first blackout.
> 
> *During the show the lights and sound fritzed during 'Liar', which exhorted Roger to do some spectacular drum work in order to keep the crowd entertained. John was furious, as I've learnt from multiple accounts (and from my own imaginings) he's an electrical engineer so he'd likely be furious over shoddy electrical work. And if said work happened to also cause an injury to his best friend, well that's even more reason for him to be enraged
> 
> Note: "old bill" is English slang for the cops, the fuzz, the police, the guard. No one wants the po-po coming round! ;P
> 
> I think this piece can end here, if it isn't too sudden. What are your thoughts?
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


End file.
